Lost and found
by Rieval
Summary: Blair has been abducted ...
1. Chapter 1

**Title : **_Lost and Found_

**Author** : Rieval

**Disclaimer** : not mine (it's such a pity !)

**Rating** : hum, let's says R, just to be cautious

**Summary** : Blair disappeared - set few weeks after the episode "Survival"

**Note 1** : sentence in italic denote thoughts

**Note 2** : english is not my first language, so please be kind !

When I'll finished it – one day …-, this monster will be posted on Cascade Library, but for now it's yours!

Betaread by LKY (check her stories on her site, she writes GOLD!)

**Thursday 14 May 1998**

**08:32 AM**

The man let the phone ringed four times before seizing it. "Yes." The voice was young and soft.

"Mister _Smith_?" a strong male voice answered with a little ironic accentuation on the evidently false name. "A friend of mine recommended you to me."

The introduction met silence.

"I need help with some … _difficulties_ I encountered here, in Cascade."

More silence followed the odd explanation.

The man kept on. "Well, my friend was real impressed with your work in Chicago so …" The voice trailed off, confidence abruptly lost, sharing some nervousness.

"What kind of help do you need exactly?" The tone of the other man was now sharper and colder.

"In fact, what I need the most is … time. You see, the police are getting a little to close to my _business_ for my liking. So, I need time to, well, to _clean up_ the place."

"How much," some impatience could be heard in the voice of the second man.

"Huh, let's say two or three weeks. I should be able to … _finish_ at the end of the month but to do so I need this damn cop off of my back and» The speaker had a habit of pausing every few words as if testing the water before continuing.

"Name?" The voice cut off the angry tirade.

The strange conversation was really getting on the first man nerves now and he babbled "Ellison. Detective James Ellison."

o0o

**Monday 17 May 1998**

**02:25 PM**

Relaxed in his high-backed leather chair, the blond haired man slowly brought the fine blue china cup he was holding up to his lips and took sips of the Old Jasmin tea. Savouring the flavour of the expensive tea, eyes closed, seemingly lost in his thought, he played with the manila folder that was on his desk. After a moment, he opened his eyes and pulled the content of the folder out to check a last time.

He smiled at the picture in front of him. The smile held no warmth.

Long chestnut curly hair framed an angular young face. Sapphire blue eyes were staring intelligently out at the camera. With his finger, the man traced the features of the young man staring up at him.

There was something special radiating from this face.

Innocence. Yes that was it. Such innocence.

Still smiling, the man placed the fragile blue cup back in its saucer and closed the file.

All was ready. It could begin now.

**TBC **

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Friday 29 May 1998**

**07:22 AM**

Ten days.

Blair was missing for ten days now. His car had been found in a ditch, near the docks, keys on the contact, his backpack and laptop in the back seat.

Forensics had found nothing. Nor had the Sentinel.

Jim spent hours with the lab technicians, almost dismantling the old Volvo entirely, searching for anything that may help them to understand what happened, but he had come up with nothing.

And now, ten days later, they didn't have any clue of "how", "who" or "why".

Blair had just vanished into thin air.

No witnesses. No nothing.

Jim ran a trembling hand through his cropped hair, head aching from the day's events. He was tired. He hadn't sleep well since he had burst in Simon's office ten days ago.

He had known that something had been wrong when Blair didn't show up at the station after his last class. They had made plans to go to an important stake-out that night and Blair had promised to be early.

Simon and half the crew of Major Crime had been immediately on alert. Blair might be the king of obfuscation but he wasn't an irresponsible young man. And when it came to backing his partner up, he was like a guard dog. Nothing and no one can stop him.

No. There was no way the grad student would have let Jim go alone in this stake-out, let alone not calling at all, letting his partner worry. They all knew that something had happened.

Something bad.

Jim had gone to the University with Brown while Rafe had called all the clinics and hospitals in Cascade. Hell, Rafe even had the morgue checked, but he hadn't said that to Ellison. The man was in full "just look at me and I will break you like a twig" mood and it was a little scary.

Finally, Simon had put an APB on the missing observer. They had found his car, but no trace of the young man.

Joel Taggart had immediately started pulling files, checking on the cases Jim and Blair had worked on. Garrett Kincaid and Lee Brackett were their best candidates for a little play at revenge, but they were still locked in prison, for what seemed some more hundred years.

Jim leaned back in his chair, covering his eyes with one hand and trying to clear the fog that had become his brain, when a thud startled him. A file had been _deposited_ none too gently on his desk.

Jim looked up at the man who was standing there, his jaw clenched and his face hardened. "Bowen." The Sentinel voice had an icy edge.

Mark Bowen was older than Jim by a couple of years. He was a tall man, taller than him, with well defined muscles and a bad attitude.

Bowen had been transferred from Seattle four months ago, after being investigated by IA for "_excess use of force_". He had been cleared, only God knows how, but his superiors had thought that a change of scenery was the best thing for the Detective for now.

The man had taken an immediate dislike on Sandburg. Jim knew that the unconventional young man with his long hair, earrings and colourful clothes had more than once been the end receiving of some harassment by his fellow cops. But that had been at the beginning, now most of them had come to respect Blair. The others, well, they knew better than to cross Ellison. He was Black ops. A dangerous man indeed. And he had made it clear more than once that his partner was off limits.

Jim knew that Blair had tried his best, as always, to befriend Bowen, the young man knowing first hand what it was to be an interloper in a tight group. But Bowen had wanted nothing of it.

Though he had not witnessed it, Jim knew that more than once Bowen had been verbally abusive with Blair. Mostly innuendos and rude comments. He had questioned his friend about it, but Blair had just shrugged it off and dismissed it as "_not important_". So Jim had let it drop, but not before having had a nice little_ enlightened _conversation with Bowen about the proper way of treating his partner.

So now, Bowen didn't like Ellison so much, which was just fine by him.

He knew that the older Detective was now spreading, none too discretely, _rumours_ about Blair and him. The man was really a jerk and Jim knew that nobody in Major Crime would listen to him, so he wasn't worried.

For now.

Cold green eyes fixed him with obvious disgust.

"Ellison, here is our report on the stake-out at Correlli's residence. Don't know who your snitch is on this case, but let me tell you this: it was a waste of time. The guy is _clean_. Hell, he's a pillar of the Italian community here in Cascade. I don't even know why we investigate him".

The big cop was flanked by a man in his early thirties that Jim didn't recognize. He was wearing a badge on his belt.

Soft grey eyes looked at the two Detectives, uncertainty writen all over the man face. The younger Detective seemed quite nervous; the tension between the two older men was clearly palpable in the almost deserted bull pen.

_God, who's the fool which had partnered this … kid with Bowen. _

Jim was going to answer when the _fool_ in question exited his office. "Ellison, Bowen, Davies, my office now" Simon' voice thundered across the bullpen.

"Have a seat," Simon sat at his desk after pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Simon quickly made his presentation "Jim, this is Junior Detective Allan Davies. He's going to work with Bowen here for a while".

"Hi, Detective Ellison, I'm pleased to be in Major Crime. It's an honour to work in the _cop of the year_ team," a big smile graced Davies face, hand stretched out.

"Welcome in, Davies," Jim shoock the proffered hand.

Bowen snorted in disgust.

"Problem, Bowen ?" Simon asked coldly.

"No Sir, I just wanted to know what we are supposed to do with the Correlli's case," The voice had a sweet-friendly tone.

It didn't seem to impress Simon, whose eyebrows frowned with displeasure.

"Well, that's why you are here. I appointed you two on this case temporarily. Detective Ellison's going to give you a briefing on it." Simon waved his hand toward his best Detective to urge him to go on.

Jim heaved a sigh and began. "We have good reason to think that Correlli may know Hartmann. He …."

"Gerald Hartmann? The professional killer !" Bowen cut him off abruptly; clear incredulity could be heard in his voice"There's no way a man like Harvey Correlli could be connected to Hartmann."

"This guy, Hartmann, was never convinced, though the FBI tried more than once to pin him. He always used people to cover for him, to back him up. He's a king of manipulation. He convince them that he's some kind of … dispenser of justice. He told them that he cleans the street from the 'trash'; takes care of 'the one' who escaped justice. God! How could people being so … naïve?" Detective Davies said flipping, with a very serious face, through the file Banks had given them.

There were about ten statements here from all over the country. Teacher, doctor, housewife, student, even a judge! All told the same kind of story. Hartmann had approached them with a 'sad story' and they had helped him, sure of his claim. He set them up, then walked out, free of charges.

Some of them, even after being confronted with the fact and facing jail time, still believed in Hartmann. Jim didn't feel sorry for them: they had willingly helped someone to perpetrate a crime. They were guilty. Period.

"You said it: he's a manipulator," Jim went on, "and a very good one. We know Gerald Hartman is here in Cascade. And it's not for our great weather and beautiful scenery, so he must have a contract to execute soon. It would be near impossible to find the identity of his target, there's too many possibilities, but we can try and find out who may be is going to be his next misguided 'protector'".

Bowen was the one thumbing through the files now, "Correlli?" he asked, looking up at Jim, his brow furrowed in astonishment.

"Yes. Ellison and his partner think that Mister Correlli is our man," replied Simon. He remembered the excitement in Blair voice when he had told them about his theory.

The FBI had put a 24/7 surveillance on Gerald Hartmann as soon as he had arrived in Cascade. They had turned up with nothing significant. The guy's schedule made no sense. Most of the time, Hartmann stayed in his Hotel. Among the places he went, three were a little _strange_. He had gone three times to the Cascade Bellevue Hospital, four times to Springfield cemetery and once to the New Art unit at Rainier.

Only Blair had found _the_ connection.

Amanda Correlli. The only child of Alice and Harvey Correlli.

Amanda had been 19 years old when she had been hit by a car. The reckless driver was never found. After six months in a coma, the young woman had died, leaving his parents devastated.

A beautiful young woman, Amanda had long brown hair and soft hazelnut eyes. She was going to graduate in Art this summer and planned to go to Paris to finish her studies.

Blair had remembered the inauguration of the new art wing of Rainier, some time ago: two big studios, with large windows, conceived to receive art student. And the name of the benefactor: Harvey Correlli.

There had been photos of Amanda and some of her work had been on display. Mostly pastels. The paints showed Amanda's mastery of this delicate technique. But, above all, they reflected the very soul of their author in the choice of colours and subject.

Blair had found that Amanda Correlli had been in Bellevue for the six month of her coma and that she now rested in Springfield Cemetery, near the sea.

Simon had first been a little dubitative. It's seemed too … simple. The fed had tried for six years to make a case against Gerald Hartmann and had made no headway and in less than one week Blair Sandburg, Police Observer, Anthropologist '_extraordinaire'_ had managed to put the pieces together! They had contacted the FBI and put Correlli on surveillance.

Simon shook his head and turned back to his Best Detective. Jim was haggard and pale; worry was shaping his features, making him looked older and almost … vulnerable. Simon heaved a sigh and went on.

"You two will help Ellison on this case by taking care of the stake-out. Don't forget, Ellison is still in charge, so you find something, you tell him." The tone of Simon voice left no doubt the conversation was over.

"Yeah, of course, no problem" came Bowen answer, "and what exactly is _Detective_ Ellison going to do, while we pass day and night in a car waiting for something to happen." He glared at Jim with contempt.

"THIS, _Detective_ Bowen is none of your business I'm the _Captain_ here and I'm the one that makes decisions, is that clear?" Simon's voice was cold and distant.

"Yes Sir, crystal clear" Bowen snorted.

"Fine, you would better not forget it." With that Simon dismissed the three men.

Jim headed to the break room to fill his coffee cup. Lack of sleep and worry were taking their toll on him. He felt utterly exhausted. He was moving, eating and even breathing like in automation.

He came back at his desk and sat down heavily on his chair. Taking the forensic report on Blair's office and car, he went through it again, with the fragile hope of finding something … anything.

He had read the report so many times he could recite it by heart. Jim took out the photos and re- examined them for any clue that might lead to his friend.

He had been sorting through the stack of pictures for hours now. His head threatened to explode and concentratation was getting more and more difficult. He finally resigned himself to stop. There was nothing in here to help him.

He had nothing more than before. Nothing. He could sense the anger growing on him. He hit the desk with his fists, then, in a movement of pure rage, threw all the papers scattering them to the floor.

Everyone in the bull pen froze and turned to look at him.

"Ellison! My office, _NOW_." Simon's voice bellowed, resonating in the now strangely silent bull pen.

Jim sighed and followed his superior in his office. He knew what would come. And he really wasn't up for that now.

"Have a seat". Simon stood behind his desk pointing at the chair in front of it with a hand, while pouring a cup of coffee for his distraught detective with the other.

Jim remained standing up, his posture rigid with barely restraint anger, impatience clearly writen on his face.

"Jim, sit down, please." Simon voice was softer but firm.

Finally, Jim did as he was told with an audible sigh. He growled "I didn't have time for this, Simon."

"Drop the attitude Detective!" Simon ordered. "You're driving everyone insane here".

Jim let his head drop to his hands. Something appeared on the edge of his vision. He lifted his head to look. Simon waved a cup of coffee in front of him. He took the offered cup.

"Thanks Simon. I … I'm … sorry for …" Jim's voice trailed off.

"Don't. Jim, I know how you feel about the kid. Hell, I'm worried too, we all are." The tough captain didn't show it, but he had become real fond of the young man. Well, maybe not really "fond of" but the young man had grown on him.

Sometimes, Blair reminded him of his son, Daryl. Of course, he knew that the grad student was nearly thirty years old, but the young man had a way with life which was so ... "youthful". He was always seeing the world at his best. Even after all he had been through since he was working with Jim, Blair was always bounced back with enthusiasm and cheery energy.

Though, at their first meeting, Simon had had some reserves about this long-haired hippie boy, he had grown to respect the young man.

It was only seven weeks since they had had their little encounter with Dawson Quinn, killer cop and perfect psycho. After having escaped while being transferred to another prison, Quinn had kidnapped Simon to help him to cover his getaway and to retrieve the loot from an old robbery. Jim and Blair had come after Quinn and his girlfriend from hell, braving two crazy survival mountain men in the same time. The kid had been shot but he had keep his cool as well as it could have been expected from a cop in the same situation.

And now _this_.

Simon sighed. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, great, a headache was settling here.

The captain turned back to face Jim. His friend looked rough; rumpled clothed,big lines of fatigue writen all over a pale face. It was time to stop _this_ now.

"Look Jim, there's nothing for you to do here. The FBI agents will be here soon now," Simon could see Jim's face distorted by a snarl at this announce but he kept on "so, I'm going to drive you back home", the snarl was now threatening to become a real growl and Simon cut off Jim before the man was able to formulate any arguments. "It's not an option Detective. " Then he added in a gentler ton "Jim, you need your rest. What good are you to Sandburg if you're ready to collapse?"

Jim closed his mouth. His anger deflated like a pierced balloon at the name of his missing friend.

Simon couldn't understand. Jim couldn't go "home", because there was no "home" anymore. Without Blair the loft was only a place to live: walls, doors and stairs. Just a place. Not a home. No tapping noise in the night, no drumming rhythms, no precious heartbeat.

Only emptiness.

He wasn't ready to face _that_, not now, not ever.

"Jim. Please" Simon's voice was heavy with concern now.

Jim nodded and shoulders slumped in defeat he followed his friend down to the garage.

The ride to the loft was silent. Simon glanced over at his friend who was gazed out the window. Simon had never seen Jim this devastated, even after Jake Pendergrast's disappearance. He knew the connection with his friend and the young grad student was strong and deep, the kind of one you would see in close knit families.

Yeah, these two were just that to each other: family. Brother, father and friend all rolled in one.

Jim wasn't looking at his Captain. He didn't want to. He just couldn't.

He was afraid of that he would see there : the certainty of Blair death. He was afraid of what Simon was thinking of, because as a cop he knew it all: after 36 hours, the chance of finding a kidnap victim alive was close to none. And Blair had been missing for ten days.

But he was sure that this wasn't a simple kidnapping. No ransom demand had been made and Blair's car had been cleaned up by a professional.

So what was it? Has Blair been taken as an act of revenge against him or as bait to force him to do something? Sure, none of these scenarios were really appealing, but they meant one thing: Blair was alive.

And Jim needed to hold on that hope.

His friend was alive. He had to be.

**TBC**

Please don't forget to review !


	3. Chapter 3

**Hummmmm. Can't remember if I gave that part to beta, well, let me know if there are biiiiiiiig mistakes in it!**

**Oh, and thanks for the reviews! **

**ooOoo**

**Friday 29 May 1998**

**08:13 AM**

Consciousness didn't return gently, it brought suffering with awareness. Shooting pain lanced through his skull matching his pounding heartbeat and making every breath torture. His stomach was in turmoil, threatening to expel its content at any instant. Blair heard little whimpering noises in the background and was not too surprised to find that they were coming from him.

He slowly tried to open his eyes but squeezed them shut almost immediately, his face withering in pain. In fact, it didn't matter that they were open or not. Blair knew very well what he would see and it wasn't a real pleasant view: four dirty walls, a bare room, a little window far above the ground.

The sedative he was given every evening to _put him out_ for the night was making him sick. His body had little tolerance for drugs. He didn't do drugs very well and this one was pretty hard on him. It had been ten days now since he had first awakened in this place. And every awakening had brought pain.

Though, this time there was little improvement as he hadn't lost his last meal … yet. If you could called a bowl of cold soup a meal.

He tried to shift his position on the bed, but the restraints didn't give him much room. Yeah, he was sedated _and_ restrained on the bed every evening. Absolutely and utterly overkill.

Blair sighed heavily and almost started in fear.

_Shshshshshshsh, stay quiet, stay quiet, don't make a sound, and maybe, maybe they won't come in this time._

But yet again, his prayers went unanswered as the door banged opened and four men entered in.

They wore black from head to toe: black balaclavas, black turtleneck, black pants and black gloves. Blair could barely see their eyes in the dim light of the room as he tracked their movements. The men were big and looked like some kind of militaries or mercenaries; Blair felt more than a little overwhelmed by their show of brute strength.

It was a little unnerving too to see them move so silently despite their huge bulk. In fact, he had never heard them make any concrete _sound_. Not even a scratch.

And none of the men had ever said a word to him.

In the beginning, he had tried to use his usual and unfortunately only weapon: talking. But while they had him pinned effortlessly on the bed, on his belly, his hands bound tightly behind his back, one of them had just put his hands around his throat and had applied pressure on his larynx, efficiently cutting off his plea for answers. The hand had disappeared just as quickly when Blair had began to trash wildly, consciousness threatening to fade from lack of oxygen.

He had tried not to speak anymore. But it was a hard lesson to be taught.

The last few times he hadn't been able to stop himself were very fresh. His throat was certainly sporting blue and purple proof of it and for some time now it felt like he was wheezing more than breathing.

So now, he didn't talk, moan, whisper or plead anymore. In fact, he didn't make any noise at all.

He had to be silent. A silent captive. A _non existent_ captive.

These men just didn't seem to act like he was _here_ at all.

It was like he was just a commodity, or more realistically a _task_ for them. He was _something_ they had to do, not _someone_ they had to take care of. The same routine was repeated every day, clinically, with cold efficacy, without giving a shit about his feelings or his needs.

And now they were here again.

The thought of them made him shiver; his breathing coming suddenly in short gasps. God! He was beginning to hyperventilate.

_Notnownotnownotnow, Calm down, Calm down. _

He may have lost the control of his body to those emotionless men but he wouldn't give them the pleasure of giving up his mind and spirit.

_I hadn't had the right to give up, Jim wouldn't want me to. _

_Jim_. The thought of his friend gave him strength.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, took large lungful of air to try and to calm his breathing and willed himself to endure the next hour.

The padded straps that were buckled around his hands and waist were the first one to go. He was put in a sitting position on the bed, hands forcibly restrained behind his back. Then, the men went with the straps around his ankles. His limbs felt numb after having passed the night strapped down to the bed but they didn't give him time to stretch them.

Huge, strong hands gripped his arms and hauled him up to his feet. He was stripped down efficiently and ruthlessly. His hands were tied behind his back with some leather straps and he was led stumbling to the little bathroom in the corner of the room.

He was standing over a toilet now.

White porcelain. Little pool of black water. Water leak in the faucet.

A tremor coursed trough him. How could the sight of a so inconspicuous object bring so much dread? The shivers increased.

A man, was holding him from behind, pressing him tightly up against him, while another grabbed his penis, holding it in position. The young man tried to distance himself with what was done to him.

_Not really me, only my body, not really me, only my body._ He repeated the words slowly like a mantra.

He could feel the breath of the man against his ears, warm on his skin even through the fabric of the balaclavas. In his utter misery Blair let his head fall back against the man shoulder. He remained there until he finally succeeds in his task, not bothering to attempt to reclaim his weight from the man who was holding him up.

When he was done, more gloved hands positioned him under the spray of warm water. They untied his hands and retied them in front of him. He was positioned forward, palms flat against the cold tile of the shower wall. He stood there under the water stream, slumped in defeat and despair.

One of the men took a cloth, put some soap on it and began to clean him up.

_OhGodohGod I can't, I just can't, stop touching me, stopitstopitstopitstopit. _

Blair shut his eyes and clenched his teeth together. Tears were threatening to slip from his eyes but he fought them back. He was breathing hard gulping back the sob under the water, his hair hiding his face flushed with shame, like a veil.

He wanted to tell them to stop. He wanted to kick, to scream, to fight, to do something. He wanted it. Hard. Yet he did nothing. He just stayed still, body racked with shivers. Helpless.

_No point struggling. Nothing I could do to stop it, to stop them, would only get hurt, Jim will come, have to be strong for Jim. _

_Onlymybodyonlymubodynotmenotmenotmenotme._

The young man's obvious distress went completely ignored.

The man with the cloth was careful around the wound on his thigh and this almost did it. The false gentleness was almost too much for Blair. He was going to lose it. Some of the tears he was fighting back escaped his closed eyelids. He squeezed his eyes tighter, almost painfully.

The men finished with washing and rinsing his hair and he felt something soft and warm being wrapped around him. Massive arms were supporting him. He was barely able to stand now having almost reached the limits of his emotional endurance.

They thoroughly rubbed his body and hair dry with the towel as he continued to submit silently to their ministrations. His hands were untied and he was dressed in shaggy grey sweatpants and long sleeved tee-shirt.

During all of it, an eerie silence had been reigning in the room, giving an unreal atmosphere to the scene. Blair felt disconnected to reality, his body and mind numb.

_Maybe it's not real, none of it is, it's too horrible to be real, this couldn't be happening. _

The men laid him back down on the bed. As soon as they released him, Blair rolled away, burying his face in the mattress he was lying on. He heard their retreating footsteps and the soft click of the door closing behind them.

He was alone.

Lying on the bed, unmoving, he realized he was shaking; his breathing started to hitch, as tears welled up and began to spill over. Soon, the tears he had refused his tormentors streamed down his cheek in rivulets. He felt cold and his chest heaved with the effort to breathe through the sob that racked him.

After several minutes, the shivering diminished to occasional tremors and his sobs subsided.

He cautiously lifted his head. One of the men had put a tray on the floor near the bed: a glass of milk, a bowl of oatmeal and an apple.

They would come back later to retrieve it. And he had better have eaten all of this _Champion's_ _breakfast_.

Blair pulled his knees up and hugged himself tightly, almost digging his nails into his calves.

Ten days.

He could go on. He _had_ to. It was his only goal now: to hold on his sanity, for another day, then another, until rescue came. Until Jim came.

He began to rock slowly, back and forth, while whispering a litany of soothing and reassuring words to himself.

_Have to be strong, Jim will find me, Jim will come. Have to be strong._

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you! I am so blessed to have received such wonderful reviews! I truly did not think that anyone would care, let alone appreciate, what I had to tell … _in English_!**

**Friday 29 May 1998**

**12:21 AM**

Jim opened the loft door but let Simon go ahead of him. He was afraid of being there. Afraid of the nothingness he would feel.

He clutched the keys in his hand, hard, almost drawing blood.

"Jim, you alright?" Simon was looking at him; worry written all over his face.

"Yeah, Simon thanks" Jim tossed his key in the basket, hung his coat and took few tentative steps inside the loft. Then he stopped and stood there unmoving.

Simon didn't know what to do for his friend. He understood him though. If Daryl were the one missing, he would felt the same way: helpless, angry.

And afraid.

The big captain shook his head as for to chase away the dark thought.

"You hungry?" he said suddenly, heading toward the kitchen "Jim!"

"Hum, What?"

"I asked you, if you want to eat something."

"Simon, I'm not really hungry and …" Jim's voice trailed off heavy with fatigue and emotion.

"Well, it's too bad because I am. And you have to eat too." Simon opened the cupboard and began to rummage. "So what do we have here" he queried softly to no one in particular.

Jim stood in the middle of the living room, listening to his Captain who was now ranting and raving about the "damn kid's healthy food attitude." A sad smile graced his lips.

Jim knew that he wasn't the only one whose protective instinct kicked in where Blair was concerned; Simon was as bad as him in a kind of _bear_ way.

After their return from the hospital few weeks ago, Blair had complained daily about the _mother hen routine _of his roommate. Jim recalled that the young man had been more than happy to have Simon for dinner one night, _for a change_. But, it had soon discovered that the tall, tough captain was in the same state as Jim's. Simon had passed the evening fussing over the_ kid_, but without making it look like he had been. Which had been worse. Blair had rolled his eyes up and waved his hands in the air in a mock sign of surrender.

Blair would love that: he had two _blessed protectors_.

Yeah, sure, and what good did it do to him? Jim sighed heavily and took a few steps forward.

His gaze lit on the coffee table near the couch.

Blue books scattered about, along with papers, pens and books. A tape recorder lay atop of the paraphernalia.

Jim approached the couch with slow and cautious moves as if going too quickly would risk making the proof of Blair's physical presence in the loft suddenly disappeare. He stood a moment in front of the table, eyes fixed. He extended a trembling hand toward one of the blue book, took it and opened it carefully.

The familiar hand written scrawls of his friend covered large part of the pages. Jim smiled briefly.

Blair was always very thorough in his grading, thinking that the biggest responsibility of a teacher was to try and to make a student understand the sense behind the questions, more than to underlaying the wrong answers. It was for that reason that the graduate student hated multiple tests exam, judging they didn't reward "intelligence" and analytical minds, but only "by heart" sterile knowledge.

Jim wondered what it would have been to have Blair as a teacher when he was in college.

Seeing the number of calls from Rainier's students they had on the voice mail, Jim knew that Blair was a really popular teacher. And a good one too. He had attended some of Blair's lectures, waiting for his class to end to drive him back home when his _classic_ was in the shop.

Jim had been impressed with Blair's performances. The young teacher was a dynamic speaker; his lectures were funny and accessible. Well, Jim even remembered most of the topics and it was more than he could say for a lot of the things he had _learned_ since leaving college.

A sudden shiver coursed through him.

How had it happened? When had this _stranger_ become so important to him? More important than his own family? He had always been a loner but in a few years Blair Sandburg had become a part of his life. No. More than that. He had become a part of himself, as important as … breathing.

He _needed_ the young man by his side to feel … whole.

And it wasn't only a Sentinel thing.

It was a Blair Sandburg thing.

The young man was … a gift. Jim couldn't repress a nervous chuckle at this last though. Blair was someone who could behind the wall of appearances. Who was always eager to help people, to give, and who never asked anything in return. A gift, indeed.

Someone precious. Someone that deserve to be … protected.

Jim dropped down onto the couch, legs suddenly weak. Leaning back in the couch, he clutched the blue book tightly in his hands. Tracing the scrawls on the paper with his fingers, he played with the curves of the words drawn here. The red ink Blair had used made a strong contrast with the white paper.

The colored ink seemed so bright. Bright and so deep.

Jim couldn't take his eyes off of the red scrawls and soon they seemed to fill all his vision, threatening to engulf him completely, like large spreading wings

He felt like he was drowning in all this red … blood? So much blood. Blair's blood.

It was surrounding him now, closing on him. Soon, it was in him, in his eyes, in his mouth. He could feel the acrid taste of it. It was suffocating him slowly.

"Jim, Jim, Come on, don't do this to me, God! Come back now; snap out of it, JIM!" At Simon's worried voice, Jim blinked, coming back from his zone-out with a jolt.

Simon had joined him on the couch and was shaking him, none too gently.

"Si-Simon" Jim's voice stuttered "Wha-"his throat was dry like sandpaper "What happened – here?". His head felt like it was going to explode soon.

"_WHAT HAPPENED_?" It went out a little harsher that intended. Simon rubbed his forehead with his hand and took a large inspiration to calm himself. "What happened, Jim, is that you just took ten years of my life. Ten years that I couldn't afford to lose, thanks to you Detective." His voice trembled with emotion.

"I zoned". Jim let his back dropped against the couch, eyes closed. The pain in his head subsided slowly, living him weak and numb.

"Oh yeah, you just did that. For _four_ minutes. The longest four minutes of my life in fact. God, Jim. You – You weren't even breathing. I was at one little minute of calling an ambulance. Don't you ever do that to me again, Ok?" Simon squeezed his friend's shoulders gently before standing up from the couch and going to the kitchen.

Jim still clutched the blue book, his knuckles white. It had been so real. The blood. And the feelings.

Feeling of … failure, of guilt over his failure to protect Blair.

"Drink this Jim." Simon held out a glass of water for him.

Jim took it silently, not trusting his voice to thank his friend. The water cooled his parched throat but didn't chase away the taste of blood.

"So, what triggered this little – episode." Simon had his "don't even try to lie to me" voice. Sitting on the chair in front of his Detective, he waited for his answer.

"Blair's blood." It was only a whisper.

"_WHAT_?" Simon was on his feet on an instant, eyes wide open "Wha-What are you talking about? You found –Blood? Where? When? Why didn't you …"

"No Simon. I didn't find any – blood." His headache was coming back with a vengeance. Jim stood up slowly and headed toward the balcony.

The sun was shining today, illuminating the loft in a soft glow.

"I though …" His voice trailed off a moment. "I though I had seen it in here." He held the blue book out for Simon.

Simon took it and opened it, flipping through the pages, then he looked up at his Detective, eyebrows frowned with obvious question.

Jim wasn't looking at his captain anymore, his eyes gazing over the city below.

"Jim. I don't' think – " Simon was cut of by his friend.

"I _failed_ him, Simon". The voice seemed lost.

"Jim, nobody could have done anything. How could you have known what was going to happen? Geez, Jim, being a Sentinel, sure gives you some real – assets, but you're not superman! You can't expect more from yourself. _YOU-ARE-NOT-RESPONSIBLE-FOR-EVERY-SHITTY-THINGS that happens here_! Hear me, Detective? So, just drop the guilty act. We don't need that. _Blair_ doesn't need that from you". Simon stood in front of him now, looking like a parent admonishing a young child.

Jim was silent. He knew that Simon was right but the feelings stayed nonetheless. He took the bluebook from Simon's hand and put it back, almost reverently, on the coffee table.

He didn't look back at his friend, his eyes glued to Blair's clutter. Something caught his eyes. The tape recorder, the one Blair used for his lecture.

Jim took the tape recorder in his hand.

"Jim, you have to regain some … control of yourself", Simon voice was pleading.

Jim turned the tape on. Blair's voice filled the loft.

"God, Jim, stop this; it … it doesn't do you any good". Panic threatened to embank Simon. Jim's behaviour scared him now and he didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to help his friend. Had Jim finally broken down?

"I _can't_ lose him Simon; I … just can't".

Simon put a hand on Jim's shoulder and squeezed it gently, trying by the gesture to convey strength and emotional support to his distraught friend.

They stayed here, standing side by side, in a comforting silence, listening to Blair's voice.

o0o

**TBC (… but not till Christmas I afraid !)**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Oups_, almost forgot to post this, but Klenotka was here to remind me of my promise so, here it is, the next part! Oh, and thanks for the reviews everyone! You are all awesome!**

**Friday 29 May 1998**

**07:02 PM**

A sweet breeze was blowing over the marina.

Seagulls were chattering noisily, their cries covering the gentle crash of the water on the boats. It was a sunny day and the marina was busy. A lot of people were trying to enjoy the weather and do some repairs; or just to doze off a little in the sun.

A blond haired man kneeled on the desk of a blue and white boat, observing the Marina's life with interest over his sun glasses. He looked young, in his early thirties. Tan skin and light blue eyes accentuated the impression of youth. He wore a long white sleeve t-shirt and jeans, and was busy cleaning the deck.

Long from 9 meters, the boat he was on, had been conceived to sail. Its robust and dense structure made it a simple, solid and economic ship. It wasn't new, but its large room, little living room opening on an external cockpit, comfortable kitchen and bathroom, made life on board as comfortable as in any apartment.

The man loved to live on sea. He needed the independence it gave him. He never stayed too long in the same part of the country, or in the same country.

And in case it was necessary, escape would be easier by sea.

The light wind played with his long hair, his bangs veiling his face. He did nothing to push them back, enjoying the feather like sensation on his skin. It was a perfect day.

He was pleased with the evolution of his plan. Real pleased in fact. All was going smoothly and was on schedule. The corners of the man's mouth turned up in cold satisfaction, distorting his face, making him look abruptly older and colder.

Yes, all was doing well.

His men had reported to him earlier. Their _guest_ was reacting well to his … treatment. As well as it could be expected from an academic. Though the young man was not a soldier or a cop, he proved to be a little more resilient than they had first thought.

It made the challenge more interesting.

His choice had been, once again, the best one. The young man had been the right target to get to Detective James Ellison.

His Achilles' heel.

His man inside the police station had told him that the Detective was completely devastated. The big tough cop was slowly falling apart. He had lost his temper this morning and his captain had had to ban him from the station; some of his cases had been reassigned to another team.

The blond man smiled broadly. Taking the young man had definitely been a genius trait.

He paused a moment in his task, readjusting his sunglasses. He had studied those two closely. They were indeed, a strange pair.

What were the odds that a man likes Ellison, tough cop, ex-Ranger, ex-Cover ops. ended up partnered with a man like Blair Sandburg, grad-student and son of a seventies flower child! And more than few months after they met, Ellison, the well known self-reliant and loner cop, invited the young man to live with him!

"Opposite attracts" was the first thing that came to the mind. But the man knew better. There was more here.

The files he had gathered on the two had been … enlightening. Strangely, it was Mister Sandburg's past that had surprised him the most.

Sandburg's youth had some gaps, but it had to be expected with the kind of life he and his mother had lived. Blair Jacob Sandburg was a very interesting individual. He was well travel and had friends all over the world.

He was an 'activist' but not like his mother. No marches or protests for him, but real work of investigation and analysis. His "_cheval de bataille_" had been modern slavery and environment. He even went to the Congress with a young friend to testify before a committee about a case of water poisoning in Connecticut. It was also the first time he almost got killed. He was seventeen. There had been some other 'close calls' after that, but young Blair Sandburg always came back with the same passion and determination. And his two years with Detective Ellison hadn't been calmer: kidnapped, shot at. But he stayed with the cop nonetheless.

The man wondered if Detective Ellison knew of his roommate 'tumultuous' past. Somehow, he didn't think so. One on the cases the young man had been involved in was almost twenty years old. He was a minor then and the file had been sealed. The other ones had been sealed too in order to protect the victims and the witnesses.

Strangely, it had been easier to have access to Ellison files than to Sandburg's one. And there had been no surprise here. Captain Ellison had been a good soldier and a very skill one too. Killing in cold blood wasn't alien to him.

Light and darkness. Ying and yang.

That was what bound the two men together.

Blair Sandburg was Jim Ellison's s_oul_.

The cop needed him in his life to accept what he was, what he had done, and still do. He needed him to keep on without losing himself in the violent and dark world he lived him. The young man was his "_light in the night"_. He had to _follow_ him.

Like a lifebuoy, the cop needed him to stay upright, to stay above the horrors he dealt with every day, to stay sane. Without Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison, the _man,_ would be no more, and only the Detective would remain, a cold and disheartened shell.

And the young grad student stayed with him because it was in his nature _to help_. He had somehow sense Ellison suffering and his need.

They were 'protectors', the two of them. Ellison was protecting Sandburg _physical_ life while Blair Sandburg was saving Ellison's _soul_.

A cold shiver interrupted the man reflection. The wind had picked up; the sun had lost its warm and had begun his slow descent, inflaming the sea with long red streak.

He pushed back his hair, finished meticulously cleaning the deck and put away all his utensils; he then headed back inside, all the time humming a cheerful tune.

He still had a lot of things to do.

It was time for stage 2.

**TBC** (But when, this is the question? Okay, I will try and write the next part in January. For the time being, have a very, very, safe and good New Year celebration! See you in 2006)


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